Tis Pity She's a German
by Breech Loader
Summary: It's Mann vs Machine, and RED teams with BLU. The mercs have a lot of history to be brought to light. Being crazy doesn't keep the old head-organ ticking along too well either. But this isn't about the past - not entirely. This is about what it means to be a family - it's not who you're born with; it's who you live with, and fight with... and kill with. Heavy/Fem!Medic, Scout/Pyro
1. Mann Vs Machine

'Tis Pity She's A German

By Breech Loader and Draven Of Shadow

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**NOTE:** This fanfic is a co-op. It's based very loosely on the latest game mode for Team Fortress 2, "Mann Vs Machine". Or perhaps more accurately, the trailer. There are pairings, and parts of people's Origins – some people have canon Origin stories already, which will be expanded. We're going with what we know to be canon, and making up the rest. Not unlike Valve.

Additionally, names. People will be gradually getting names. Well, the ones who didn't have official names already.

And the primary pairing is Heavy/Fem!Medic, but there's other relationships. Oh, and there's sex in this story. But not straight away.

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Chapter One: Mann Vs Machine

The grinding sound of steel on concrete filled the air as the latest wave of Grey's machines marched forth, their bullets filling the air as they waged their merciless war to claim Mann Co. for their master. They had managed to pin down the BLU Sniper and RED Demoman, who was currently carrying them both, he launched a volley of well-aimed grenades, sending the group of bots flying in all directions before he leant down to shout at the BLU Sniper, who had been temporarily blinded by a face full of scatter shot. "Quitcher whinin' already! I lost me eye when I was a mere boy, to MAGIC of all things! Those medics an' their weird machines cannae fix magic! So getcher lazy ass up here and start shooting NOW!" To emphasize his annoyance, he brought the back of his hand across the Australians cheek before he began to reload his launcher.

For once, the two very different teams had to work together - which would be all very well for the Pyro and the Engineer, whose partnership hadn't been split up when the teams had been distributed to defend the many, many, many Mann Co. enterprises, or even the BLU Scout, who was as much a team player as a well-aimed baseball, but was not so good for the RED Medic and BLU Heavy.

Medic fired a blast of the Medi-Gun at Sniper, restoring his vision, before dodging back around a corner. Even in giant robots, the rule seemed to apply that you should 'shoot the Medic first'. Where in the hell was a BLU Heavy when you needed one? She wasn't a melee fighter. And Respawn wasn't active in the Mann Co facilities - if she did Respawn, it would be about 200 miles away, where she'd be no good to anybody.

A tapping, rattling sound slowly grew in the distance, becoming louder and louder until it was enough to draw the attention of the machines, just in time for the large, BLU clad Heavy to jump down from one of the many overhead platforms, mini-gun blazing as it rained empty cartridges on the heads of his allies and the bullets tore holes through a mechanical copy of the Demoman that was approaching the RED Medic. "Now is robot killing time!" He then broke into maniacal laughter, standing over the much smaller woman as he began to sweep the room, not always seeming too careful if anyone in a red shirt happened to be close to the machines he had his sights on at the time.

The RED Soldier's obnoxious mid-west voice bellowed into their communicators - making at least three of the mercenaries cringe, "LADIES!" the man didn't seem to have any concept of the Indoor Voice, but worse than that, he also seemed to forget that the communicators everybody wore meant he really didn't need to shout, "One of those GIANT ROBOTS is heading THIS WAY! Get your DELICATE REAR ENDS in gear RIGHT NOW! We'll show those damn HIPPY ROBOTS who's the REAL High-Quality Mercenary around here!"

Medic rolled her eyes and fired off the Medi-Gun at the Heavy standing in front of her. It was a good thing the BLU Medic had also given her team Uberhearts or it would kill him in about thirty seconds. She'd only found that out a couple of hours ago of course, when she'd given the BLU Heavy his first Ubercharge.

That was about when the giant robot turned up.

The BLU Heavy's laughter grew outright insane as the glow spread over his body and he took aim on the enormous bot before him. He tightened his grip as the barrels began to spin on his gun, aiming for the centre of his chest as the bullets flew through the air, slowly closing the distance as small holes began to appear in its thick armour. "HA! Big metal man is not so tough compared to bulletproof Heavy, is it!?" As if to emphasize his point, he then put away his gun and donned his Apoco-Fist gloves, cracking his knuckles before he began to punch the still stunned machine in the chest, a flurry of lefts and rights as the glow disappeared from its eyes before it exploded into a mess of scrap and gears, his arms spread wide and his head back in joyous, insane laughter as the Ubercharge began to wear off. "No machine is better of Heavy Weapons Guy, is it, Doctor?!"

There wasn't an answer, and when he turned around to investigate that, the answer why was obvious. One of his bullets must have bounced off a wall, because Medic had sharply lowered the Medi-Gun, and was pressing her hand to a spreading red patch on her leg. It was heal the Heavy, heal herself, or shoot down the offending robot.

She knew that if she opened her mouth she was going to admit that while the injury was less dangerous than it looked, at the same time it was very, very painful. She couldn't hold the Medi-Gun one-handed, so as her last resort ripped out the Crossbow. She grabbed a breath, "I can deal with this!" she shouted in her strong Germanic accent, trying to remain standing.

The Heavy hesitated for a moment before he drew his shotgun and walked over to the Medic. Leaning down, he wrapped and arm around her back and lifted her as easily as one would carry a baby. He then turned to the Sniper and Demoman. "Go! I have the doctor!" It was all that they needed, splitting up so the Demoman could clear a path back to their main base and the Sniper could cover his partner and the injured Medic. "We shall be back in base soon."

"I! Do! Not! Need! Your! Help!" Medic shouted, swatting at Heavy ineffectually, just before she leaned back and aimed the Crossbow, shooting a Minor League Scout right through the head. This might have ended the round, but then she stopped, spotting something far more important than her dignity. A Sentry Buster was rapidly approaching one of the RED Engineer's sentries, "Mein Gott..."

The explosion just seconds later turned the Sentry Gun into scrap metal. It took out half the building and half-a-dozen other robots. Most of the crew was behind cover, but it knocked the BLU Scout flying. And it demolished the building that Heavy had just started dodging into while carrying Medic. The whole building caved in around them.

He dropped the Medic to the ground and threw himself over her on hands and knees as the rubble comes down, his large body able to soak up the damage of the rubble with little ill effect, other than the grunts he makes as it hit him. "Stay down!" Heavy shouted to her as the rubble continued to fall for several seconds, finally standing up as the debris settles. He then wiped the sweat, dust, and blood from his brow. "You are being okay, da?"

"Ach... Ja..." Medic nodded, but looked around, more concerned by their current trapped predicament. It didn't take long to assess the situation. The sounds of battle were drawing to a halt outside - it sounded like they were going to win this round. On the less optimistic side, she and Heavy were surrounded by a caved in building. Their teams would dig them out of course. And that was good, because on inspection of her leg, there was quite a lot of blood. She doubted she was up for digging. She put pressure on the injury again, "Well, we have won this round," she suppressed a grunt of pain, "And now it seems we are trapped to celebrate victory alone for a while." She frowned.

The Heavy nodded to her as he began to check the rubble surrounding them, wiggling several pieces before finding a spot he liked and beginning to pull some out of the way. "Could be some time before we are to be free. How is injury?" He didn't bother to turn as he asked this, instead focusing on digging, though he did keep an ear open as he did so. "It looks bad, much blood."

Medic nodded. Normally a blast from the Medi-Gun would heal it, but the bullet was still in the injury. And she couldn't remove it in here - well, not if she didn't savour the idea of possibly bleeding to death. For best results, she'd need to be back in her med-lab with her equipment. This was, however, not an option, so she'd have to leave it in for now, "I may... possibly... require some assistance," she admitted reluctantly.

"Oh?" Heavy set aside the latest piece of rubble he had pulled free, turning to her and sighing as he walked over to sit down beside her, still towering over her smaller form, "I am not knowing how I can help." He looked to her then, seeking some guidance for what it was she needed him to do. "What are you needing from me?"

"Put your hand here," Medic took his large hand and put it over the injury, "Now put pressure there to stem the bleeding... while I..." she fumbled in a pocket and found a relatively clean bandage. The Heavy put pressure onto the injury, and she bit down on her lip hard in an effort not to show weakness - because that bullet in there hurt like hell.

He offered her his hand, pressing the side to her mouth as he gave her a nod. "There is no shame in pain comrade." He reassured her of this and squeezed down on the injury hard enough to stop the bleeding. "Now is time to hurry, I do not know how long we will be here."

The doctor had always looked rather pale to the BLU Heavy. Her raven-black hair had only ever served to bring it into starker contrast. Now, most likely thanks to the blood loss, she looked paler than ever. She rolled up one trouser leg past the injury, "Days... Weeks... Months..." she wiped some of the dirt off her face, oblivious to the blood she was smearing there instead, "Who can tell?" She looped the bandage around the leg, and started to wind it tightly, "And you, Herr Heavy?" she looked up as she worked on herself, "Are you feeling well?"

The injuries he had gotten from the falling rubble were nowhere near as troublesome as her bullet wound, but combined, he was bleeding quite a lot, though, with his large size it wasn't too much for him. "I will be fine. And if we are here for three days, it would be not mattering anyway." His expression as he said that became a little distant as he remembered something from the past. "I have seen what happens to men... Men locked in boxes with no food or water... More are not to last more than three days..." He shakes his head then and squeezes a little tighter on her leg. "So hurry, lazy little doctor, I will not be wasting away here!"

"Lazy?!" she glared at him, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times. She drew the bandage tight and pulled down her trouser leg, "I think where there is snow, we will find water. Food is less of a concern..." She tapped her leg experimentally. By some horrible miracle, the bullet hadn't hit any vital arteries, and the bleeding would stop soon enough, "I have seen women go without food for weeks..." she hesitated, as if about to say something else, but frowned and drew her coat around herself, "It is amazing what people will go through for fifteen more minutes of precious life. My concern is the cold," she added.

He nodded to that and stood back up, goose bumps forming on his skin already as he began to explore the rubble once more, looking for any piece he could pull loose without causing a collapse. "Perhaps you are not such ignorant woman as I thought..." He said quietly, to no one in particular as he pulled loose a particularly large piece, making the whole pile creak and settle a bit. "Perhaps... Digging from inside is not to be such good idea... If only we were knowing if air was fresh, we could be making fire from debris..."

"If only you were Pyro, we would not need debris," a small smirk crossed the doctor's face, before she shook her head, "Our comrades will dig through to find us, I am certain of it," she peeled off her wet, sticky gloves with a soft grunt, "Danke for the assistance," she commented, testing her leg carefully. She didn't want to risk putting unnecessary weight on it just yet.

He nodded and sat down beside her, holding his arm out in front of her. "In cause it cannot hold you." He sighed and dug through his pocket, pulling out his last sandvich as he watched her test her leg. "I am having one sandvich. We can share."

The Medic wasn't really paying attention. She picked up her crossbow and examined it. Then she unscrewed a needle from it, "Morphine... bandages... Ha! That is not medicine. That is _toys_ to keep men amused while they die!" With a soft grunt, she shot herself in the leg with the needle, and relaxed a little. She'd have to wash it out soon, but she'd rather do so with boiled water. She caught Heavy's look, "Nein, I am not going to _die_," she reassured him, "Save the food for later."

He nodded and sat the sandvich atop his mini-gun before he turned to look at her. He pinched the bridge of his nose before he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his side, "Then stay here. Is warmer together." With that, he pulled his legs up against his body before pulling her into his lap, the heat from his large body quickly warming her bones as her own body held in some of the heat which his thinner clothes let out so easily.

The Medic looked up at the huge man-bear, one eyebrow raised as if she was considering something. But eventually she spoke again, "You do not have to do any of this," she reassured him, "I am going to be okay!"

"Is no trouble," he answered, "We are all comrades here."

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**NOTE:** Not exactly one of my longer chapters. But still, tell me what you thought of the first chapter! Right now, MAGGOTS! I want at least one-million reviews before I grace this site with another chapter!


	2. Retrieval

'Tis Pity She's A German

By Breech Loader and Draven Of Shadow

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**NOTE**: Noticed something? Yeah, the pairings have changed. Ain't that a bitch? Pyro/Scout? Poor Engie. He'll just have to stick with being a father figure. And poor Scout too. It's like I always say, it's hard to flirt when you're on fire. Well, don't worry. I'm almost certain it'll work out. When we get there.

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Chapter Two: Retrieval

Hours had passed, and still they were in that position, the Heavy's arms wrapped around the Medic loosely as he snored softly, his body draped over her own like a blanket, or as though she were the last flame in a frozen world, mumbling in Russian, _"You... Can not hold me..."_ He had been on like that since he fell asleep, the cold, dark, wet enclosure of the rubble they were trapped in drawing up memories of his past as he slept, making him restless in his dreams.

Medic had not allowed herself to sleep - the blood loss, plus the dose of morphine wasn't a good combination, and a doctor with decent ethics wouldn't pull it on a patient, let alone themselves. Of course, ethics hadn't been her strong point for decades. So he hadn't woken her. She was already awake and listening. It didn't sound like a pleasant dream. In fact, it sounded like she'd been told she slept by the RED Engineer once. Except according to the Engineer, she sometimes woke up crying. As an afterthought, she poked the man-bear next to her sharply in the side, "Aufwachen!" she told him sharply, "Wake up!"

He awoke with a start, jumping to his feet. With a roar of rage, he took a blind swing at the darkness, snorting like an animal as she heard his fist hit concrete, making him growl as the surface cracked audibly beneath his fist. He stood there, panting and gasping, eyes wide as he looked around, like that for nearly ten seconds before he finally relaxed, pulling his now bloodied hand free as he look down to her. "Apologies comrade Medic..."

She shrugged, and with the wall for support, stood up, keeping her weight on her good leg, "'Medic' is who my comrades call for on the battlefield," she smiled dryly, and rubbed the back of her neck, "Call me... Olga. Olga Engel..." She extended a hand for him to shake.

He started to offer his bloodied hand, but stopped himself out of politeness and offered his other. "Andrei. Andrei Medvedev." He told her as he took her hand with a firm grip, though being careful not to hurt her. "I apologize. Memories are not all so good..." He suddenly went still as he saw her wrist, noticing a familiar mark. He brought her hand up to his face, nearly throwing off her balance. "This mark... I am knowing it...

Olga's face went even paler as the BLU Heavy stared at the tattoo on her wrist. The number - 38464792 - the inverted red triangle, and the black and red circles. They were both old enough to know what those symbols meant. She moved to snatch her wrist back, but he kept a hold of it. There was no point in denying it. Really, no living person would _choose_ to wear those symbols, "...Ja," she said finally, extreme reluctance in her voice, "The mark of a traitor to the National Socialist Party, verdammt. What of it?"

Andrei stared quietly for a few more seconds before releasing her hand and sighing as he sat back down. "It would seem... We are having more in common than I would have thought..." He sighed and looked up to her with a sigh as he patted the floor beside himself. "You have heard of the Labor Camps, da?" It wasn't something he ever talked about, not even with his team mates. Something he had not thought about in years outside of his dreams.

"You mean the Gulag?" Olga sat down again, glad to take the weight off her leg once more, and nodded, "Of course. To my knowledge, exactly like the Nazi Labor Camps, except they were run by the Soviets. Ach, ja, and the inmates were slightly more likely to be _worked_ to death rather than _shot_."

He nodded to her once more and sighed as he rested an arm over her shoulder, pulling her against him once more. "Exactly. Fortunately, I was not to be there for long." He sighed and gripped her shoulder tightly. "I made sure of that." He then looked down to her wrist and shook his head. "It seems you were not to be so fortunate..."

She shook her head, "I am a surgeon. I could speak English, French and Russian. Those abilities kept me alive for four months. But even one day is too long, I am sure you understand." She leant her head against Andrei's shoulder, "And being a surgeon is not the same as being a midwife... The women of Ravensbruck had started calling me 'Gefallener Engel' by the time the Soviets arrived to free us," she smiled ironically and without a trace of humour.

He understood little German, but with the context and how similar the words were to English, he understood enough. He let his hand rest on her back as he spoke his next words. "Sometimes... Past is best left as past..." It felt foolish to say such a thing. It was likely that with her chosen profession she had already deigned to live by those words. They sounded so empty and hollow, anyway. But they were really the only words worth saying right now.

"I was very foolish," Olga sighed, staring into the distance, beyond the walls and into history, "I only hope I have learned from my mistakes. I should never have fallen in love..." She seemed to come back from wherever she had been visiting, and turned to him, "Both our countries have their share of monsters, ja, nein?"

He gave her one sharp nod in reply and let his hand rest on her back for a while longer as they sat there in silence. Finally, after what felt like hours, but could only have been a few minutes, he spoke again. "Before those days... Never would I have imagined myself as I am now..." He shook his head a bit and retrieved half of the Sandvich, taking a bit as he leant back amongst the debris.

Olga examined her leg, "In my personal experience, _'Jedem das S__eine'_. Literally, 'To each his own', but figuratively, 'Everybody gets what they deserve'. That, Andrei, applies to so much more than the individual..." she looked up, listening. She was fairly sure she could hear, if not the sound of digging, then at least the sound of Soldier shouting at people about digging, "The Americans call it Karma."

He slowly ate the slice of sandvich, listening closely to the sounds coming from beyond their prison as he thought on her words, a smile spreading over his lips as at least the rubble over their heads began to shift a bit, smaller pieces falling to the floor. "Then perhaps today, those we have helped outweigh the ones we've killed."

"I should tell you about the bombing of Ulm one day," she replied, picking some rubble out of her hair distractedly. She squinted as a ray of light shone in when a large piece of wreckage was removed, "But not this day..."

"YO!" the obnoxious voice of the BLU Scout rang out through the debris as a small hole was cleared, "You guys still alive in there? Cause we won this round!"

"DA!" His voice was loud and joyous once more as his arm wrapped around her waist, bringing his new friend up with him as he stood. "O... Medic is injured, she come up first!" He looked down to her and gave a little nod as he gripped her waist with both hands. "I will hold you to that, Olga." He then lifted her up slowly towards the opening.

As the Heavy lifted the doctor towards the hole with ease, she passed through her weapons and tools first. Then she felt the strong hands of Soldier and Engineer grab her wrists, and they pulled her through. It would take a much bigger hole to fit the Heavy through, but for now she was just relieved to be out in the fresh air again - even if it was freezing cold and she was covered in her own blood.

Once they'd sat her down with the RED Pyro, who couldn't be trusted with opening a bag of mixed salads, much less moving rubble, the other six members of the team returned to enlarging the hole.

"Heavy, mate!" the BLU Sniper called in, "You hurt in there? Need any help to get through?"

A hardy laugh was their reply as he picked up his beloved gun. "You know it would take more than baby building is to be having for to kill the Heavy!" With that said, he began pulling down pieces of rubble from within, now that he had a place he could do so without collapsing it on himself. For all his boasting, he'd definitely be taking a couple of aspirin before he laid down that night.

The hole continued to widen, "You had better be in fighting shape, man!" the voice of the RED Soldier bellowed, "You're no use to anybody 200 miles away in Respawn!" He was the only one with an actual digging tool, wielding the Equaliser with a method more practiced on heads than on rubble. Still, there was no doubt that he was shifting the most mess, and within a few minutes they had managed to clear a hole big enough for Sascha to fit through. The Heavy would have to pass her through first.

"Be careful with my Sascha!" Despite his outburst, he was more than happy to pass her through first, knowing full well she'd most like have gotten caught and scraped on his back. He'd have to let the others touch her, just this once. He laughed loudly as the Solder and Scout were both nearly dragged in by the sheer weight of the behemoth of a weapon, and had to help them get it up, as well as hold it there until the Demoman arrived to help them set it to the side. Only then did he pull himself out, stretching as he enjoyed being out in the open once more.

"Well!" Soldier spoke sharply, and you could almost hear the multiple exclamation marks, "Gentlemen-"

"Ahem..."

"And ladies, we have proven victorious! We have proven that human grit will always beat robot magic!" there was a series of nods, "We still have jobs!" more nods, "But they will be back! They will always be back! They had better be back, because they are what is paying us!" Indeed, there were piles of money all over the place, "They are walking trashcans, but they are walking trashcans filled with large amounts of money and glory! And we will claim it all! USA! USA! USA!"

The BLU Spy tapped him on the shoulder, "Soldat, perhaps we should return to the base for a short while? The Medic is injured; she needs to clean up her leg."

The Heavy nodded as he reclaimed his beloved Sascha, hugging her for a moment before placing her over his shoulder once more, feeling complete with the mini-gun at the small of his back. "Da! Comrade Medic is in the need of her equipment!" With that said, he made his way back down the rubble to pick her up once again, using both arms this time as he began to walk towards the base.

Next to him, Medic leant back, trying to relax a little.

Scout edged over to Sniper, "Yo, is it me, or are those two acting weird?" he asked the only Australian in the world who did not possess a moustache. He was doubtless referring to the fact that, apart from when she was with her extensive Flock, or testing her latest medical advances, most of the time Medic emoted about as much as a car battery in a fridge, and also how Heavy seemed to be carrying her in a manner not dissimilar to how he handled his treasured Sascha.

"Best not to question it mate," the Sniper said while he adjusted his hat and then dusted off his clothes. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be on either of their bad sides." That seemed to be about all he had to say on the matter, as he began to follow them, though he made sure to pick up all the money he could carry along the way.

"We will be back soon," Andrei told Olga quietly. "Then you can heal your leg safely." He then looked back over his shoulder, noting the only person that was close to them, was the Pyro, who seemed to be skipping along in his – or her? - own frightening little world once more. He touched her hand, "I wish you luck in the healing of your leg, Olga."

She gave him a wicked smile, "I implanted my own Uberheart, Andrei... I think I can deal with a bullet in the leg." She looked around them all at the carnage surrounding the Mann Co. factory, and wondered once again what exactly it was that anybody who could afford robots that were powered by money could possibly want with Mann Co. industries. They were fighting for their jobs, but somebody else was surely fighting for a great deal more than that.

She wasn't the only one who was wondering that. Both Spy and Engineer were wondering the exact same thing. But then again, in her opinion, they were the only three members of the team with IQs above 110.

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**NOTE**: A short chapter, I know. Some of these chapters are short, some are long. Now, how about some more reviews? I know there are people reading it. Come on! Draven wants to know what you think too! I can't believe I didn't get a million reviews!


	3. Playing With Fire

'Tis Pity She's A German

By Breech Loader and Draven Of Shadow

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**NOTE****:** It's canon that the Engineer's name is Dell Conagher. For smoother reading, Pyro's name is Casey. Casey is a Gender Neutral name. One of the most gender neutral names around. Have fun with that. Also, this is a shorter chapter but I'm working on that.

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Chapter Three: Playing With Fire

The mish-mash of a team had by now arrived back at their shared base. Technically it should be an easy matter to set up in their usual positions, but that was really for when they were facing off against each other. And other humans. When it came to dealing with endless waves of robots... well, that made things just a tiny bit more complicated.

So while the doc was off taking a bullet out of her own leg in her med-bay, the Engineer was setting up sentries.

"Sure is sweet, that we don't gotta worry 'bout no BLU Spy fer once, eh Pyro?" he asked the masked firebug, while adjusting one of the bolts on his Sentry Gun, "O' course, you lose one trouble, you get another. Like those doggone Sentry Bombs walkin' about..."

The Pyro stared for a moment before nodding slowly. The asbestos-suited pyromaniac then picked up one of the large wrenches that scattered the floor of the mechanics shop, turning it in their hands for a few seconds before tossing it back down and picking up another. After staring at that for a while too, they offered the tool to the busy Engineer, mumbling something from behind the mask as it was waved as if it were vital to the task at hand, despite being far too large for anything on the machine.

"That'll do the job, Casey," the Engineer told the Pyro, as he accepted the wrench. He lifted his goggles for a moment and looked up at the young... individual. Casey was tilting his - her? - head in obvious interest, "Could'ja find the old thread-pitch-gauge down there?" he suggested. It was days like these; days when a substantially lower number of objects were on fire, that the RED Engineer wondered what exactly was inside that suit, because for sure he'd never seen it, "Sure is cold around this place," he added, adjusting his goggles again.

A quiet giggle could be heard from inside the mask as the Pyro gave him an exaggerated salute and started to crawl around the floor, the snout of the gas-mask pressed to the ground as they carefully examined each item. It was nearly five minutes before Casey shot back up, an adjustable pipe cutter in hand, and offered proudly to their friend as they ran excitedly back towards the Engineer.

"That's a start," Dell gave Casey an ingratiating smile and took the tool, even though it wasn't the one he needed. It occurred to him, and not for the first time either, that whatever, or whoever, was under that suit, was probably not all that bright. Not dumb like Soldier, who had the six-pack, but lacked the metaphorical rings to hold them together, but in such a way that it was possible to feel sorry for them – well, as long as nothing was being set on fire. It was probably the reason why he ended up minding the Pyro, and keeping them busy in ways that didn't involve gasoline. Also, it was an incentive to make most of his machines fireproof. He pulled a wrench out of his pocket, "Cold enough 'round here, that it makes you want to get back to Dustbowl, eh?" he asked with a grin, still working.

Casey was already shuffling towards the corner, but took the time to let out a sound of agreement before they began digging around on a nearby table. The Pyro spent several minutes moving things around with no seeming pattern before they found what they seemed to be looking for and made their way back to site down by Dell once more. After a few more seconds of laughing to themself, Casey poured a bottle of two cycle mix out on the floor and lit the puddle, huddling over it like a heater with their hands cupped for warmth like one would do by a campfire, staring at the flames in fascination.

"Tch," Dell pulled himself into a sitting position, "Somethin' tells me your mama never taught you not to play with matches, eh Casey?" For what must have been the hundredth time since they'd met, he tried to peer past the optical mask, and once again was foiled by thick rubber, "One of these days, kid, you're gonna have to face the headlights and take off that mask. Y' can't hide yer face from the world like some lousy Spy forever, 'y'know?"

The Pyro let heavily gloved hands rest in the fire even while looking up to him, tilting their head a bit and staring quietly for several minutes before they finally shook their head as if trying to forget what they had just been told. It seemed to have worked as Casey held their hands in front of their face, seeing them now on fire from the mixture that covered them. After several more seconds a happy sound could be heard from within the mask as a pair of flaming hands were held out to Dell while the Pyro bounced gleefully on the floor.

Casey was pretty much offering to let him hold fire – like offering a favourite toy. Of course, unlike Casey, Dell wasn't fireproof, "No, thanks," he shook his head, pushing the slightly smouldering gloves back with his gloved hand as graciously as possible, "How about you put that down, and take a look around and find me my combination square instead?" Keep him - her? - busy. That was the motto of anybody who spent any time with the Pyro. That was probably why their one-sided conversations worked out so well - the Engineer was _always_ busy, so he could always think of something to occupy Casey with. True, the company was a hole shy of a screen door, but then again, so was everybody else in the Team.

The Scout was a textbook case of extreme narcissism, and the Demo was bi-polar as well as an alcoholic. The Heavy personified his mini-guns without blinking, and the Medic was fascinated by all things medical, regardless of how unethical it was to research them. The Sniper's workaholism wouldn't have been a problem, if he didn't kill people for a living – but then again, so did they all. The Soldier's dementia was obvious, but on particularly bad days he even complained about Shovel 'pushing him around'. And Spy was just plain creepy in his cold contempt for almost everybody else who lived.

The Pyro's vivid fascination with fire was hardly anything particularly outstanding, as long as you kept the kid in front of you.

Casey saluted Dell once more, leaving a few lines of fire on their mask to burn out, and then got up, spending several seconds looking around before making their way to a corner of currently untouched tools. Once there, the Pyro looked diligently as the fuel on their hands burned out, as well as the small fire they'd made in an attempt to warm their friend. Over the course of fifteen minutes, Casey had gone through dozens of tools, as well as inspecting several boxes, having even lingered on and picked up a couple before finally having an idea. They made a great raucous as they dug around through all the tools they had looked at, finding four adjustable wrenches and sticking them together into a roughly square shape, which the Pyro was more than eager to show to the Engineer.

Dell chuckled at the sight, "Not quite what I had in mind, kid, but it'll do," he took the wrenches, "Now-"

"Yo! Yo, Engie!" a voice rounded the corner, showing Scout, "The Soldier wants to know when you'll be done with the-" He froze up upon seeing the Pyro.

Dell stood up quickly and put one hand on the Pyro's shoulder, keeping him – her? - from leaping into action. Even when the teams were working together against a robotic menace, Pyro seemed to have some difficulty grasping who or what they should be setting on fire, "The Sentry Gun?" he asked, "You sure are ridin' the gravy train with biscuit wheels, boy," he told the Scout, "Y'all'd gotten here five minutes ago and it'd still be primed for firin' at you BLU squaddies!"

The Pyro took a few seconds to grasp what was happening before Dell's words sunk in, bringing a laugh from inside the mask that made the Scout jump as Casey clapped at Dell's joke, apparently finding it unsettlingly hilarious as they doubled over, smacking the Engineer on his back. Suddenly though, they straightened up, going quiet for a few seconds just before starting to chase something neither the BLU Scout nor the RED Engineer could see. To the two men, Pyro almost looked as if they were trying to snatch a butterfly out of the air.

Scout watched him for a few seconds, then, when he was positive that the Pyro wasn't listening, spoke, "One minute they're settin' half the world on fire, the next they're... not. What is wrong with that... _weirdo_, Engie?"

"My pa'd say, it's bein' a day late and a dollar short," the Engineer told the Boston boy, who looked on in bafflement at both Pyro's antics and the Texan slang, "Let the kid get on with it; he'll tire himself out."

"So your Pyro's a guy?" Scout asked.

The Engineer shrugged, "Chances are about fifty/fifty. Medic got a look at the plumbin' back when she put in the Uberhearts," he rapped his own chest, "But that's between her and... Pyro." He continued to watch Pyro with concern.

As abruptly as the Pyro had begun their whimsical trip, it ended, and left them standing there for several seconds until they bent down and picked up something from the floor, which just so happened to be the combination square that Dell had asked for earlier, though it was doubtful that Pyro had any idea that was the case. Casey walked back over to Dell and offered the Engineer the tool with obvious ceremony, though lacking the excitement of their previous offerings while they mumbled some sort of question.

Dell accepted the combination square graciously and with a friendly smile, "Maybe later, kid. But Scout, you'd better be headin' back to the Soldier. Tell him Ah'm gettin' along just fine. Ain't no robots gonna be gettin' through this bottleneck t'night."

The BLU Scout was all too happy to dash off, and get out of the company of the - possibly - craziest member of the team. Being unintelligible and faceless only made the Pyro even scarier to anybody who wasn't the Engineer. Dell returned his attention to Casey, putting one hand on his - her? - shoulder, "Work's mostly done here for now," he told the kid, "How 'bout I read you... the story of the First Australian Thanksgivin'?" he bent down and picked up an aged book from where it had been lying next to some other tools, "It's got dingos in it and all..."

Something that almost sounded like a whoop could be heard behind that mask as Casey jumped up and down, glove bound hands clapping excitedly before their arms wrapped around Dell's waist and the Pyro nodded excitedly. Once they managed to calm down from that, they quickly ran over to the corner to get two empty crates, tossing them down by the burnt out fire and sitting on one of them.

The Engineer sat down facing the suited fire-starter, "Drinkin's always been important in Australia. So's barbeques. And fightin'. Ever since the Australians had first come to Australia, every year they had a traditional drinkin' and barbequin' and fightin' festival, where they'd get drunk and barbeque and then fight until they was sober again… Except one year, there was a terrible fightin' shortage, what with all the barbequers getting' drunk too early. And I ain't gonna beat around the bush, you can't have an Australian festival without fightin'…"

The Pyro settled down with their face nestled in their palms, and listened in fascination. After a few minutes, they drew the Axtinguisher, cuddling it like a pet.

* * *

**NOTE**: My personal opinion, after viewing Meet The Pyro, was always that the Pyro (Casey) was indeed crazy, but at the same time severely autistic and more to be pitied than to be feared. Well, maybe both. That, or it's not actually, technically, human any more.

Also, if you're gonna bitch about Medic knowing Pyro's gender, you need to watch Meet The Medic again. You don't perform open-heart surgery on somebody without finding out what gender they are. Whether you take off the mask or not.

Now REVIEW DAMMIT.


	4. Sheets

'Tis Pity She's A German

By Breech Loader and Draven of Shadow

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NOTE: Names! All of them! Some are canon. Others are not. The ones that CAN be Canon are. The ones that cannot, are not.

**The Soldier:** Mister Jane Doe

**The Engineer**: Dell Conagher

**The Demo****:** Tavish McGroot

**The Sniper**: Lawrence Robert Mundy

**The Heavy:** Andrei Pyotrovich Medvedev

**The Medic:** (Johanna) Olga Engel

**The Spy:** Jacques Boucher

**The Scout:** Bradley James Hastings

**The Pyro:** Casey Rodriguez

I chose most first and surnames not for being meaningful, but for being common, recognisable names in their native languages. Like calling somebody 'Smith'. Meaning is not entirely coincidental but why pick random words? It's called symbolism. Chrissake, I didn't spend six hours researching Russian (and German) naming traditions for the good of my health.

Also, I just changed the title!

* * *

Chapter Four: Sheets

Andrei sighed as he sat in his bed, rubbing his bruised and aching shoulders as he looked to his clock. He stood as the numbers turned over to one AM, stretching out and sighing as the bruises and muscles sent a sharp ache through his body. With nothing more to do and a strange desire to talk to Olga once more, he found the clothes he had put on after his shower, jaw clenched as the seams scraped his injuries. Once more in jeans and a t-shirt, he headed out into the hall, bare feet slapping the cold steel with each step until he stood outside the Medic's door, rapping his knuckles on the door and waiting to see if he got an answer, "Olga?" he called out, "Are you awake..?"

No answer. A moment of investigation discovered that the door wasn't locked, and Andrei walked in without really thinking about it. Olga was face down in her bed, the crossbow clutched in one hand. This wasn't actually all that surprising. Most of the members of the team kept a weapon close by even when sleeping; the Engineer was actually paranoid enough to sleep with his shotgun in one hand and his pistol in the other.

The Medic mumbled something in German, but she didn't wake up, simply rolling onto her side. The sound of doves cooing sleepily made him look up – Medic had brought her Flock with her of course, and they were looking down at him with interest – or as much interest as it is possible to express when you are a glorified pigeon.

After a few seconds, the Heavy walked over to her bunk, where she was sleeping face-down. He was about to lean down and rest a hand on her back to gently shake her awake, when he pulled back with a gasp, looking down with a surprise as he realized she was sleeping naked.

He took a moment to calm himself down. First of all, he placed one hand on her wrist – he knew how easy it was to kill somebody on reflex if you were startled when you woke up. Then he rested his hand on her bare back once more, shaking her a little, "Olga, is Andrei... Can you awaken for moment?"

Reflexively, Olga sat up and shot him through a vital organ with a crossbow bolt in one smooth movement - except, since her wrist was pinned to the bed, she didn't _actually_ do this. This must have confused her, because she promptly thrashed in her sheets for about three seconds. Eventually though, she woke up and looked at Andrei, who against all logic, wasn't lying on his back with a crossbow bolt through his head, "Andrei?" she asked, "What are you doing in my room?" She realised that the sheet was starting to slip, and grabbed it with the hand that wasn't being pinned to the bed, "It is far too early to need a Medic... if you have a serious problem, cannot you simply _die_ and use Respawn…" She yawned.

He released her hand with a light blush, letting her use both hands to preserve her modesty as he stood up and stepped back a bit. "My back is to be aching from earlier, and also... I am missing you... Wishing we could be talking more." He seemed almost unusually shy for a moment, or more accurately, he was unsure how to continue, "Also am hoping your leg is better."

"_Eindeutig_," the German doctor answered, "Absolutely. The bullet did not even shatter. I only needed to take it out and give myself a shot with the Medi-gun. I am quite well now."

The Heavy spun on his heel a moment later and crossed his meaty arms across his chest as he tapped his foot, "I was... unaware you are sleeping naked."

"I find myself more comfortable when I sleep unclothed," Olga explained as she put down the crossbow reluctantly. Long black hair unfurled down her back, showing the single grey streak running through it, and she pushed it out of her face, "Still, in a warzone, in a base shared with seven men and one Pyro..." she chuckled to herself, "Well, there have been a few mishaps..." She caught up with the other statement the BLU Heavy had made, and wrapped her sheet more closely around herself as she sat up, "Wait, you miss me? But we are not in battle..."

Andrei turned back around, privately admiring her for a moment before he sat on the edge of her bed, the frame creaking beneath him as he looked over to her. "One is not needing war to be missing friends." As the Heavy said this, he let his hand wander towards her to rest on her bare shoulder. "We _are_ now to be friends, are we not?"

The Flock rustled their feathers sleepily above them, "I... suppose we are," Olga pulled her shoulder back. Still, she didn't actually tell him to _lea__ve_, "Ahem. Anyway, you say you are still sore?" she hesitated. An idea was coming up in her mind, and despite her attempts to dissuade it, it looked very appealing, "My Medi-gun is in the lab still... it is a lot of trouble to undergo for some aches... But I..." she started to blush.

Heavy gave her a soft, almost curious look as his hand moved to rest on her knee through the blanket, turning at the waist as he gave her a bit of a smile, "What is doctor to be thinking?" As he asked, Andrei moved, twisting at the waist so he was sitting side ways beside her, one leg crossed over the other, towards her, as he wondered what sort of thoughts would make somebody like _her_ blush like that.

The normally frosty doctor looked away for a moment, trying to regain her composure. Then, she shifted positions on her bunk until she was sitting _behind_ the mountain of a man, and he couldn't see her expression. She tucked the sheet around herself so as to keep it up on its own, "I have myself noticed that painkillers are... not always the best solution to all discomfort. I am however open to experimenting with many forms of medicine, so... If you will forgive me one moment, Herr Medvedev?" She rested her hands on his broad shoulders from behind him. Then she started to rub.

She could feel the abrasions and knots beneath his shirt, drawing a hiss from his lips that ended in a sigh. The behemoth of a man relaxed under her fingers, leaning forward slightly as tension he hadn't even known was there began to melt away as her fingers traced the clear outlines of his strong, defined muscles. "Doctor... Olga... I am surprised... I was not knowing your fingers could feel so _good_..." Beneath her hands, Olga could feel his heartbeat slow as his breathing became calm and quiet.

"There are many forms of medicine to practice," the Medic was very glad that the Heavy couldn't see her face. She wasn't blushing, but she felt like if he'd been looking at her, she would be, "One for every occasion, ja?" She continued to work on his wide back, clever fingers digging into knotted muscles firmly, "This may hurt briefly..." she warned him. Then her fingers dug right into a space between nerves, clicking something into place sharply.

He let out a pained sound, a word that wasn't English, and sounded like it might not even be Russian. Though once the pain passed, he sunk into relaxation once more, the pain melting from his body one drip at a time as he rested his hands in his lap. "It would be seeming so... You must have studied very hard to being so good." Andrei smirked a little at his compliment before his face settled back into that state of relaxed pleasure once more.

She leant back for a moment. It must have something to do with her hair being loose... normally she kept her hair up as tightly as a first-gear hairpin. Currently it was hanging halfway down her back. Yes, her hair. That explained _everything_. And if not, she didn't want to know why not, "Would you be offended, if I asked you to remove your shirt, Herr Medvedev?" she asked him, "So that I can have access to your back more easily?"

The giant shook his head and stood back up slowly, gripping the hem of his tight fit tee as he spoke. "Not one bit." He then slowly pulled it up, revealing a mess of bruises, cuts, scrapes, and even a couple of small gouges that ruined the plane of his back. There were some very old and deep scars there too, too old for Respawn or the Medigun to have healed. Andrei then tossed the shirt aside and sat back down. "I am being more comfortable like this."

"Hmmm..." Olga paused a moment. There were some old scars on his back - not that she didn't have a few of her own, "So, you are enjoying my medicine, Andrei?" she asked him, cheering up a little. She had to sit right up on her knees, and was almost leaning over his shoulder, "You make for a very willing test subject. They are hard to come by!" She found herself becoming thoroughly engrossed in her work.

He chuckled a bit and smiled, feeling her hair play over his lower back as her fingers traced his older scars, drawing a shudder from the large man as he stretched his legs out a bit. "For doctor, Andrei is always willing." He gave a rumbling laugh. Perhaps the words were a bit butchered in the delivery, but the intent got across, letting her know of his growing affection. He found himself sinking into Olga's attentions, every brush of her finger and rub of her palm filling him with a soft sort of pleasure he was in no way accustomed to.

It took a few seconds for the translation to come through. Pick-up-lines did not translate well between their languages. But when it did, the Medic paused in her task, and started to blush all over again, "Good!" she blurted, "That is very good! No, wait..." A doctor shouldn't have a problem with having to get close to their patients, of course... In fact, she shouldn't even be dwelling on it, "This was... a bad idea," she leant back, her hands leaving the Heavy's shoulders and clutching at her sheet again, "I should not have..."

Once more the bear of a man turned to face her, a reassuring look in his eyes as he gave her a soft smile, resting one large hand on the unsure doctor's shoulder as he sighed softly. "I am not meaning to upset you... It has been too long since last I knew someone better than acquaintance... I am to be thinking you are same." He leaned in then, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "Do not say no to feelings for fear; neither of us are people who give before fear." Andrei straightened back up, letting his hand slide slowly over her shoulders, but didn't turn away or stand, waiting for her response.

"I am _not_ afraid," Olga insisted firmly, "Why should I be? There is nothing to be afraid of here..." she shifted slightly. The Heavy's hand was warm against her cool skin, and yet she felt like her entire body was heating up. She looked down at herself, "And yet... I have been gravely mistaken before..." She moved her hand, laying it lightly on top of his, the other still clutching the sheet.

Andrei turned his hand over, lightly squeezing hers as he brought it up to his mouth, opening his fingers to kiss the back of her palm with a quiet sigh. "Mistakes are to be made every day, is how we are to learn and grow. Olga should not let mistakes of past dominate her future." With that, he lowered her hand back down to the mattress, holding it quietly as the seconds ticked by.

"Ja... mistakes are the sound of progress..." she agreed. Slowly, with considerable hesitance, the Medic's hand wrapped around his - or at least, part of the way. His hand was simply too large for much more. She let go of the sheet - although not letting it slip - and touched Andrei's cheek with her other hand, looking into his blue eyes, "Progress is... a very... _very_... good thing..."

"Da..." The word was barely that, hardly more than a whisper, but meant only for her ears. His lips were for hers, and they closed the distance, meeting hers with a rough passion as his other hand rested on the bed beside her to hold him up during the kisses, as long and deep as it was sudden, and filled with passion; with lust.

She gasped softly, her lips parting. She hadn't felt this way in decades... no, _ever_. She shifted closer to him, her grip tightening on his hand. For whatever reason, the kiss didn't surprise her in the least, but it didn't lose any of its emotion for all that. He was so much bigger than she was... but that wasn't scaring her. Even as she found herself being pushed back by his superior strength, she found herself trying to match his passion.

Andrei's hand released her own and moved to her back as he deepened the kiss further, determined to know not just her taste, but every detail of her mouth, as he hoped to one day know her body. He groped her softly, moaning into her mouth as his fingers dug at the sheet for support, something to hold onto reality. Anything to keep himself real, to stop himself from being lost in her forever, as much as he wanted himself to be.

Olga moaned, her hands wrapping around his shoulders again, this time from the front. The sheet was supported only by the pressure of their bodies close together, and it was slipping down her back, so she could feel his hands moving over bare skin now. It felt almost like some mad dream, except her dreams usually involved more fire and blood than this... But she wasn't complaining as she held onto him tightly, her heart racing as she felt heat rise up inside of her. It made the ice melt and the blood boil with passion. Really, she should be too old to feel this way... but she had denied it for so long, that she had a lot of catching up to do…

He finally broke the kiss to take a few deep breaths, breathing hard and smiling with a love-drunk joy as he kissed her collarbone lightly, the sheet just barely supported as he ran his hands down her back, "I am hoping this is not to be too much too soon for you Olga." Andrei kissed her throat, then her jaw before moving up a bit to smile down to her once more, taking in what he could of her body, as beautiful to him as any he'd seen in his younger days, and inspiring far more passion.

She just laughed, "Maybe it is too soon tonight, Andrei..." she ran a hand down his arm, "But I will not deny you my company... seeing as you did not deny me yours..." she smiled again, leaning in to curl up close to him, resting her head on his chest. She felt almost like he owned her; he was certainly strong enough to do whatever he wanted with her. And yet she was being treated with the utmost respect, and a gentle touch that she would never have before associated with the 300lb man-bear, "Stay..." she whispered, her hand running over his broad chest.

A quiet nod was his reply, his hand wandering up and down her back, still strong and firm from countless years of one conflict after another, every scar a story of its own, each of which he hoped the doctor, beautiful in so many ways, would share with him in time, "Forever, if I could..." He promised her in a way that meant more to those who had seen as much as they, than all the promises and vows in the world. He lay down on top of her with a low grunt, holding her possessively.

"Hmmm… Andrei…" she murmured as she nestled into his embrace, the sheet between them. She let out a sigh as he held her hips gently in his large hands, "You must miss me another night," she told him, running a hand up and down what she could reach of his body.

Andrei sighed as he laid a kiss on her neck, her every touch raising more gooseflesh on his hulking body, "If ever we are to part, I will surely be missing you beyond words. But tonight, we are to be joyous..." He wrapped one extensive arm around his Olga – for she was as much his as he was hers - and pulled her closer to his bare chest.

_"I thought I must never risk myself to fall in love again,"_ she spoke softly, and to Andrei's surprise, she spoke the words in almost perfect Russian, with only the slight hint of an accent, _"Perhaps it is a risk worth taking after all... if it is a risk taken with you?"_ She must have seen the surprise on his face, because she laughed and continued, _"I told you that speaking Russian saved my life..."_

As the look of astonishment left his face, he kissed her on the cheek and nodded. _"You speak it very well, my beautiful doctor... Long ago... I too lost those I loved, but instead... I buried that pain in bullets and guns, in the deaths of those whom I could__ blame, who were different, whom I believed were wrong... I had given up on love as well, finding joy and passion in only my work... But ever since I met you… A flame has burned..."_ He shifted a little, still lying on top of her, but careful not to crush her with his weight, _"A flame I thought long dead... Together dear doctor, my lovely Olga, shall we find love once lost, the heat, from a fire long gone from our hearts to warm our very souls."_ With those words, a poetry of emotion and thoughts he could never express in English, he embraced her tightly, his body trembling with passion and relief to say what he had wanted all day, finding no small amount of amazement that such feelings could grow so quickly.

The doctor nodded, curling up close as he rubbed at her body possessively, _"I know you are right,"_ she told him, _"Just as long as we fight together, as a team... I am certain you will remain right..."_ she kissed him lightly, _"Sleep well, Andrei... My big, strong Heavy Weapons Guy..."_

He held her tightly as he yawned, relaxing next to her, a long, low sigh rolling from his lips. _"Always together... Sweetest dreams Olga... My amazing Medic..."_

* * *

NOTE: Casey - it's one of the most gender-neutral names around. Trouble with those things is that some gender neutral names sound really stupid (no offence), are heavily weighted, or worse a lot of them weren't used as gender-neutral names until quite recently. And additionally, where are my millions of bloody reviews?


	5. Hippies And Panic Attacks

Fire, Ice and Speed

By Breech Loader and Draven of Shadow

* * *

NOTE: Sorry about the wait. Doesn't look like I've got a whole lot of readers anyway… what with the lack of feedback and all… Or maybe that's the title change but hey, why blame myself?

A little connection between Soldier and Scout.

* * *

Chapter Five: Hippies and Panic Attacks

The Scout came down the stairs of the base with a yawn, rubbing his eyes with one hand as the other went to the small of his back, adjusting the bat he had stuck under his belt as he stepped into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. "Well fuck-a-doodle Jane!" The teenager said with a cocky grin, walking up to the Soldier and resting his hand on his shoulder in the form of a bro hug as he leaned over the broad man to see what he was making for breakfast. "It looks like YOUR day, just got a LOT better!" Once he saw the classic Army shit on a shingle, he shook his head and made his way to the fridge. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff every day," He took the time to puff out his chest and point at himself with his thumbs before his next line. "THIS temple is made of the finest stone." With that line delivered, he stood there for a moment, simply basking in his own perceived awesomeness.

He glared at Scout - although it was tough to tell the difference, "Boy, you sure are lucky for what you get to eat! When I was on my Tour of Duty in Europe, I ran short of rations on the fourth week! And I didn't have my pals backing me up to share with! I had to eat anything I could get my hands on! Fortunately it was the middle of wartime and there was plenty of dead meat around! Plenty of hungry people too, so I didn't stand out too much…"

The Scout managed to spot that the Soldier was warming up Army Surplus baked beans. It didn't look good; they were burning at the bottom, cold at the top, and half of them still sticking together. The Pyro would probably have done a better job, and he'd seen that asbestos-suited freak set the entire kitchen alight just trying to make porridge unsupervised. He watched as Jane then cracked open an egg and tried to fry it in the same pan as the beans.

Bradley Hastings let out a disgusted sound and stepped back, holding up his hands in front of him as he spoke, "Jeez old man, I know they say you are what you eat, but news flash, that's an idiom." With that, the young Scout shook his head and turned on his heels, leaning down to dig through the crooked, dented, and warped refrigerator, something he was used to long before coming to THIS hell hole. He soon pulled out the milk and BONK, sliding them across the table carelessly before digging around into the cabinets. Then he found the most overly chocolate based cereal his could, possibly in existence, a box of pop-tarts, and even some snack cakes, tossing them all over his shoulder to land with a series of thud on the table. "Now THIS is the breakfast of champions! Ain't no one can outrun me for a _r__eason_," He stepped back and chuckled as he slammed the cabinet, flexing his thin, tight muscle. "Well, _two_ reasons." He took the time to do a couple of more poses, admiring his reflection in the stainless steel that covered the kitchen.

"Stop primping, city boy!" Jane gave him a backhand slap to the back of his head, "You may run fast, but bullets run faster!" He looked down at the unfortunate mess that was supposed to be breakfast, sighed, and tipped it onto a plate, "Now I myself got intel from the Administrator informing me that we are going to be moving on out today! Headed South to the Decoy! For those PANSIES among us who cannot stand a little CHILL, it will be considerably warmer!"

The young man grumbled and rubbed the back of his head as he sat at the table, grabbing his cereal and staring for a moment before getting back up. "Dammit!" Scout returned to the cabinets once more, this time retrieving a bowl and spoon with which to eat his sugary breakfast. He then sat back down and began to pour his cereal as he spoke. "Why don't we ever go to the city? Plenty of scenery, we can actually _spend_ our fucking money, and I'M in my element, a lethal killing machine of stealth, grace, athletics, and MANLINESS."

"We don't GO to the city, because we are being PAID to go to the DECOY!" the Soldier told him loudly. However hard the Scout tried to be loud, he would always be bested by the no-such-thing-as-an-indoor-voice of the Soldier, "What, kid, do you want to turn up on your mama's doorstep with a bunch of hideous robotic robots on your ass?" he collected himself, and drew himself up to his full height of almost six feet, "We may all be weaker than these metal sons of motherboards, we may all be slightly less expendable than them, we may even all be human! I'll have to check with Medic on that one for Pyro… But there is one thing we can do, that they cannot, and that... is LIE!"

Bradley could only stare at the older man for a moment before he began to crack up, his chair nearly going over backwards with him as he pressed a hand to his face. "Ha-ha OH GOD you tell 'em Jane! We'll _lie_ those metallic bastards right into an earlier grave!" In his laughing fit, he finally lost his struggle with gravity, falling to the side and clutching his stomach before he finally managed to begin to slowly calm down. A few seconds later, his hand came back up, gripping the edge of the table to pull himself to his feet so he could sit in his chair once more. "Yeah man, I hear ya. We go where we're told. Heh heh... I got it..." The Scout continued to chuckle as he mixed his milk and cereal till he felt the milk had soaked up enough chocolate.

"No, THIS is where we're going!" the older man slammed down a shabby picture of what looked like somebody had piled a large amount of driftwood together, "Now I know it looks like a perfectly normal Mann Co. Research Facility for Anti-Robot Weapons, but that's because you're young and inexperienced. If you look closer, you will see that it is in fact, a Decoy; a trap for evil robots! I built it myself..."

Bradley stared for several seconds, even a minute before nodding slowly.*Yeah... This is going to work perfectly, eh Jane?" He somehow managed to keep a straight face and serious demeanour as he looked up to the undeniably insane Soldier. Though he had to admit, even though he'd seen this mess, he'd also been to the man's apartment on one occasion; hell, he'd barely made it to the bathroom. "Well, at the very least, if you built it, we can all rest assured it's a screaming metal death trap of the highest calibre."

Sarcasm wasn't Jane Doe's strong point, "That's damn right, Scout," he told him, "Made it out of nothing but my own two hands, and the sweat of my brow and the deception of my teeth and the paint of my lie-paint. When we get there, we are going to take those tin-cans out with real weapons and whatever it is you drag around- is something BURNING?!" He was about to dive for cover, when he realised that it was in fact the toaster, "DAMMIT!" he ripped the plug out of the wall, "That's another thing those damn robots can do; they can MAKE TOAST!"

The Scout let out another chuckle and watched as the man he sometimes viewed as a kind of mentor over-reacted, as per usual. He took a bite of his cereal, the chocolatey puffs crunching loudly as the chocolate flavoured marshmallows fragmented in his mouth and stuck to his teeth. "Crazy 'bots done got your breakfast, eh? That's why someone as smart as me is on the wave of the future… COLD breakfast, look at this stuff! Chocolate cereal, just as good as that toast for your body and WAY better, wakes me right up, somebody's finally making this stuff right! And THESE!" He held up a pack of Pop-Tarts. "They just started making these things a few years back; bet you've never even heard of them, have you? Cause you're not as cool OR smart as me. Bet you'll still be eating that shit when they've got steaks in pills, won't you?

Jane was already trying to lever the thoroughly charred toast out of the toaster with a fork, "I am perfectly open to new ideas! I have a Firewire extension that barbeques pigs!" he insisted, before turning the toaster upside down and banging it on the edge of the cabinet a couple of times, "Damn these unpatriotic Chinese-built toasters!" Finally the toast fell out, although it more closely resembled charcoal by that point, and he placed it carefully on top of the rest of his breakfast – beans that were both burnt and cold, and a fried egg that looked almost raw, "I do not have to be cool to survive," he added, "And I do not need to be fast! I just need to fire first!"

A sigh and nod were Bradley's reply as he continue to eat his cereal, watching as the Soldier gathered his so-called breakfast and sat down to eat it, visibly cringing as the smell hit his nose. "Man, the sewers in Boston don't reek like that when they back up in the middle of August. Is that crap even edible? Smells like you could use IT to kill those bots a whole lot faster than bullets." He chuckled at his own comment and picked his bowl up, drinking the chocolate contaminated milk before moving onto his brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-Tarts.

"Ha ha, very funny, kid," Jane sat down firmly and took a bite out of the toast and beans, "DAMMIT! I think I cut my cheek!" he swallowed with difficulty, "Although you may have a point there..." there was a pause while he managed to continue eating, "Now I get a lot of things about you – you're loud, and brash, and hyped up - what I don't get is what you're _doing_ here, with us. In the middle of nowhere, no less! Who dragged you out of Boston and into the rough and tumble of the high-priced mercenary circuit?"

Bradley paused for a moment, the Pop-Tart halfway to his mouth as he thought about it, finally taking a bite before answering. "I guess I'd blame my brothers, if I had to blame someone, but a man don't blame others for his problems. I made my own mistakes too, and I can live with them just fine." Scout kept eating after that, sitting in silence, he didn't have much to add to that really.

"You ARE a man!" the Soldier sounded impressed, "I swear I didn't think I'd be hearing a kid like YOU take responsibility!" he paused, still managing to eat what remained of his breakfast, "When I was a boy, people were always telling me I couldn't do things by myself. That I didn't have the qualifications to join the Army! Why, they even told me I had Diminished Responsibility for beating the ever-loving crap out of a bunch of hippies! BUT! I showed them who's responsible!"

The young man nodded to his senior as he sat his food down to talk. "Tell me about it, you beat one guy's head in with a bat in a panic, and suddenly you're a terrible person!" he grumbled as he took a bite out of his second Pop-Tart. "Well, I showed 'em; I make more than the whole lot of them now, and I do it WITH my bat! Who needs the Major Leagues when you got skills like this, huh?!" He made a muscle, though certainly nothing that would impress anyone in this group, before something suddenly hit him. "Diminished Responsibility? That like you don't gotta do nothin' for yourself?"

Jane Doe hesitated, and took the battered old helmet off his head, "I think it means... it wasn't my fault," he said finally, "But I knew exactly what I was doing! I shot a man! And I had _intended_ to do so! Because the man was going to rob a post office! And then everybody gets up and says, 'Well, he shouldn't be allowed out on his own!' So, I showed them who was responsible for whose actions when I went on my first Tour of Duty!"

Bradley nodded and took a large drink from the jug of soda before another thought occurred to him, setting it back down and looking over to the Soldier curiously, "Wait, if you had that on your record... how exactly did you _get_ into the Army? I mean, don't they like, have a filing system for things like that?" He hadn't really given it too much thought before, but no one in their group was REMOTELY fit for military service, and most didn't claim to be. But Jane had always stuck by this story, and when it came down to it, it didn't make a lick of sense.

This finally brought about an unpleasant silence, "I am just as patriotic as any good American should be," the Soldier said finally, "More so, in fact! Because I did my Tours of Duty, in Europe, and Asia, and North Africa, and I wasn't even asked! Hell, unlike those other pansy-assed mama's boys, I had to buy my own uniform from Army Surplus, and fund my own trip to Europe! And let me tell you, it was a real bastard, getting a ticket to Europe in those war-days, boy! And I didn't have a whole platoon at my back either!" he stuck out his chest proudly, "I had to find my own way into Nazi Germany!"

Bradley shook his head and grinned as he heard his friend say this. That sounded about right, their Soldier was as crazy as they came. Who else would've... Shot... Something didn't add up. "This was AFTER you shot the hippie, right?" The math just didn't add up, not that the scout was any sort of expert at math, but it just didn't make sense. Hippies haven't been around for more than a decade."

"Sure they have," the Soldier spoke with surprising insight, "There was always men with long hair giving out their weak-ass messages on peace and surrender! Broke, drugged up losers who could have served their country better with a quick suicide pact! They just didn't call them hippies until the 50s kicked in!"

Bradley pinched his nose and shook his head again before taking another long drink of the soda. Eventually he offered it to the Soldier. "Okay, good. For a second there I thought you'd just went over there in the after everything was over and just started shooting people on the street like some sort of crazy person or something." He relaxed back into his chair again and finished his Pop-Tart.

"Ha! That's what they'd like you to think!" the Soldier told him firmly, "Everybody was all on about how I shot a homeless woman or something! But that's just making excuses! I didn't ask anybody to make any excuses for me, dammit, and neither should you!" He accepted the drink and tipped a generous helping into a mug, "That's the problem with small children nowadays. They get everything handed to 'em on a plate, rather than working for it!" His mind suddenly rewound, finally catching up with something the Scout had said earlier, "Wait, you said you beat a man to death?!"

The sudden abruptness of his delayed reaction threw the Scout for a moment, leaving him dazed for a moment before he sat forwards in his chair, elbows on the table and his face in his hands. "Yeah... Me and a couple of my brothers had broken into this convenience store – it was my first time and I was kind of excited. Wanted to do my brothers proud, I guess. We thought it was empty, so when the owner came out of the back in a robe, shouting at us and waving a shotgun, we got scared. He didn't see me 'cause I was right by the door he came out of. I took a swing at the back of his head and he went down. I was the best batter on the block; it wasn't even _fair_. There was blood; a lot of the shit. But he was about to get up again, and… and I freaked out, I mean, if he remembered us or wasn't really knocked out... So I just started swinging again and again..." He shook his head and sat back up. "By the time I was done, it looked more like I smashed a melon than a fucking head, man. I felt like there was blood everywhere, but mostly it was on me… And my brothers, they were just looking at me… like they'd never seen me before…" He let his head rest on the table then.

Jane considered how he'd felt when he'd shot that _homeless woman_ Hippy in the _train station_ post office when he'd been making his way to his cousin's house _on his own when he'd been told he shouldn't be_ to show him his dad's _shotgun_ Civil War photo. They'd just crashed into him and started yelling about ending the _pink elephants_ war. And then he'd gotten _scared angry_ brave and protected _himself_ everybody. There had been a lot of blood that day. It was a little fuzzy. He preferred it that way, "Now, son..." he stood up awkwardly, "You made a mistake. I figure everybody here's made a mistake or two, but it's not the end of the world. If we couldn't learn from our mistakes, then we'd be robots. Evil robots that try to break our willpower by consistently burning our toast," he sat next to the Scout, "You didn't have much of a father figure growing up, did you?"

Bradley shook his head and sighed as he sat up, adjusting his baseball cap a bit before looking over with his eyes, No... Dad left before I can even remember, and mom just keep sleepin' with a different guy every other night pretty much, only ones that stayed any longer were usually just assholes looking for a place to crash and a free breakfast. There were a few guys… who were kinda cool. But me with seven brothers, none of 'em stuck around for long."

"Hmmph," Jane gave this some consideration, "Well y'know what, kid? If I'd paid a visit to your mom, I figure I might have stuck around. If just to watch you grow up." He lifted Bradley's baseball cap off, and ruffled his short hair.

Bradley grinned for a moment before getting all serious, or at least trying, though he couldn't quite hide all of his smile. "Hey man, that's not cool, I'm an adult; I got a reputation to uphold!" Though, as he reached for his hat back, he did manage to accidentally give the Soldier that one armed man hug. "But... Thanks, that means a lot man." His grin came back as he stood up, grabbing the baseball bat from his belt. "Now, whaddaya say we go kick some robot ass?"

"All we gotta do for that is wake up the rest of the team," the Soldier put his helmet back on and stood up, "Oh, and if you think you've got family problems... After I got back from my first Tour of Duty, turned out my parents had moved house..." _Died. They died while you were away for five years..._ "But here, we've got a whole new family. Packed full of people who know all the things people need to know to survive any apocalypse or Armageddon you can bother to name! Robots, zombies, aliens, you name it. And most importantly of all, nobody is going to judge you for the first time you made a serious fuck-up, because we've all made 'em. Else we wouldn't BE here today! And you know what? I'm GLAD I'm here."

The grin on the Scout's face widened as he spun the bat in his hand and cracked his neck before adjusting his hat. "You know what, you're right. Family isn't who you're born with, it's who you live with. And more importantly," He tightened his grip on his bat, gripping it with both hands and giving a hard swing, shattering his plate and launching the fragments into the garbage can. "It's who you kill with!"

A rare grin graced Jane Doe's face - although admittedly it still made him look like a dog that had just been kicked, "That's a MAN talking there!" he enthused, "Now... clear that mess up, Scout!"

The Scout tossed the non-broken dishes in the sink, not bothering to get any of the food off of them, or even to rinse them off before running up the stairs to see what was taking the others so long to wake up.

"Yo, get your lazy asses up, we got orders, and orders mean money dickheads!" His shout alone would've been enough to wake pretty much anyone up, but just to be certain, he took the time to beat every door along the way with the tip of his bat, a wide grin on his face.

* * *

A selection of mercenaries awoke in their various ways.

In the Engineer's room, the Texan old-boy woke up at the bang, clutching a pistol in one hand and cradling a shotgun in the other. Next to his bed there was a level one Sentry aimed at the door.

In the Sniper's room, the only Australian in the world who lacked half their body-weight in facial hair grabbed a kukri from under his mattress, and thrust it through the air in front of him in a hasty disembowelling motion.

In the Medic's room, both Heavy and Medic woke up – in close proximity. The potential romance of the situation was slightly spoiled only when Medic fired a crossbow bolt at the door, still half asleep.

In the Demoman's room, the first thing the Cyclops Scotsman did was grab a whiskey bottle and take a drink. Then he began the process of actually waking up.

In the Spy's room, where some people, whose lives are riddled with doubt, would wake up with the questions of what they have been dreaming about, who are they, what are they doing with this traffic cone, the Spy sat up sharply, going straight from asleep to awake, and began to dress himself without question.

In the Pyro's room, the pyromaniac woke up from apparently dreaming about chasing a cat, possibly one which was on fire, and pulled on their mask without even thinking about what should come next. Then they turned off the flickering nightlight that the Engineer plugged in every night.

* * *

NOTE: So, how'm I doing?


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